Doux Amour
by RockTheRave
Summary: But in truth, I was a coward more than anything else. My presence was already unwanted by others; there was no point in trying to make it any different. They would hate me all the same in the end. For now, I was stuck. That is, until Inuyasha came along.


It was a day just like any other. I had woken up early that morning to blow dry the one pair of jeans I owned for school and to iron one of my worn wrinkly shirts I had hung to dry over a vent. Every morning brushed my yellow teeth and my knotty hair in hopes that it would somehow make the fat on my overweight body appear less disgusting; by the looks the other kids at school gave me, it didn't. I skipped breakfast as always, hoping that it might help me lose a pound or two, put my damp clothes on along with my 5th grade tennis shoes, and headed for the bus stop alongside my brother, Souta. The freezing air hit us both hard , clung to our damp clothes, and suffocated us. Looking around at the other students waiting to catch the bus, it was obvious that we didn't belong. The ghetto didn't accept us because we were white and we were too scared to try and change that. The week before, a gang of sixteen young men had jumped another young man. My baby sister and I saw the whole thing. After the ambulance and the police came, all that was left was a shoe tossed carelessly to the side, half of a wife beater, and his belt. It was better to be seen and never heard.

When our yellow one-way ticket to hell arrived, we were the last to get on. Souta was afraid he would lose his balance and fall if another student bumped him, and me not wanting him to hurt himself waited patiently for our turn. The bus was a jungle; students and bags everywhere. The bus driver was playing the radio so loud you can't hear yourself think. The students voices were obnoxious and irritating to hear. I sat down in the seat with the only other Asian girl on my bus route, Yumi. We sat in silence. I looked out the window at the world I had grown to detest silently praying today would be different. My prayers seemed to go in vain. As we pulled up to the school, the usual symptoms began. I felt very anxious; as I got off the bus and passed other student, my stomach fell to my butt. I kept my head down, eyes on my shoes at all time. The less attention I brought on myself, the better.

My only wish was to make it through the day. As I sat down in my homeroom, it was evident that I did not belong. Hollister, Abercrombie and Fitch, American Eagle, and Aerospatiale were the labels the other white students wore. Rocawear, Southpole, Ecko Red, and Dickies were the labels of the black students. Goodwill clothes had no place in that room because they were not up to par with the other brands, which meant I wasn't up to par with the people in that room either. The only equalizer we had were our grades because we were all smart, but I was better. I didn't have the worries they did of who they were going to go on a date with to the movies, or what clothes and make up made their underage bodies look more mature, or who's house they were going to have a party at next. I had much different worries than that. Ones that didn't allow me to go shopping for wants, or go hang with the few friends I had, or even go see a movie by myself. I didn't let the worries I had get in the way of my school work because school was my only way out of the life I was given that I didn't want to live.

Education was my number one priority above all else and because of this, I was the best. I dare not speak a word in my classes unless it was to answer the teachers questions or to ask questions myself. Every time I said something to say that didn't pertain to the lesson, whether I was speaking to the teacher or a student that was nice enough to actually listen, something hurtful was said. I was not only labeled by Goodwill, but by my peers. I was a loser, a weirdo, in desperate need of a flat iron, a fat bitch, a teacher's pet, and a suck up. I was alone. I had so many things I wanted to tell each and every one of them. I wanted to run! I wanted to scream! I wanted to give them what they were asking for! But in truth, I was a coward more than anything else. My presence was already unwanted by others; there was no point in trying to make it any different. They would hate me all the same in the end. For now, I was stuck. The day dragged on. I went to algebra first, my least favorite class. I sat there, half paying attention to the lesson, just thinking.

I was constantly thinking about things. I thought about what my life would be like if God had given me a different set of cards to play with. What if I had been born with a silver spoon in my mouth like the rest of my classmates? Would I be as cruel as they were towards others? I hoped not. But secretly, in the darker side of my heart that I try to keep hidden, I wanted to know what it would be like to possess such power of others; to be able to make their day miserable with just a single word or a dirty look or a snicker. I wanted to understand the satisfaction they got from making others feel awkward and outcast. I never got the chance to search my heart or mind more to figure out what I would do before the lesson was over and the bell would catch my thoughts. Literature came next. It was the absolute best part of my day. Not only was I the best at this subject, but the teacher was so different from the other people I had become accustomed to knowing. She was so nice and sweet. When she smiled I could see the kindness and love she held for others. Her eyes showed nothing but the joy and knowledge she wanted to share. She made me want to listen to every word. I was in awe with every story she told, every lesson she taught. At the end of every class she made me want to put hope back into the human race I had seen as so vicious and unforgiving. And then as went from her class to the next, that hope was always crushed along with my heart.

There was no escape from the torture of middle school. I had no one to confide in about my problems. Not even my own parents who had enough on their plate without me complaining. I was already burden enough to them. If I had never been born, maybe there would be one less mouth to worry about feeding, on less body to clothe, one less on their already heavy to do list. Lunch was awkward for me. Apparently my science teacher wanted us to eat in the classroom to we could watch all of a National Geographic movie, so I had to wait for the rest of my classmates to get their lunch. I always brought mine, but today, just like many other days, there was nothing to make my lunch with. I was given the 30 cents from my mom to get reduced lunch, but the school food was just as appealing as not eating was. I didn't have the extra money to get the 50 cent gummy bears that looked so delicious. I was so hungry my mouth was watering. Caryln, the prettiest girl in my class, came up to me while I was standing against the stage.

"Hey, hold this." She handed me the beg of gummy bears she had bought. I looked down at the small package of smiling colorful bears having the time of their life on a playground. One on a swing, one jumping rope, one playing hopscotch. Each telling me to just try one. Only one. Carlyn wouldn't mind. She had the money to buy more if it upset her that bad. I looked at the end of the packet that said "tear here" and I touched it. Before I knew it everyone was in line and we were walking single file down to the science room. "Thanks," Carlyn said as she took the gummy bears from my small hands. "I didn't want to look fat while we were standing in the lunch room."

The rest of the day went by quicker than normal it seemed. It was as if God was being so gracious as to let me get out of hell quicker than normal. The science movie made the class fly by, just like technology and history did. The bus ride home was a jungle again. The students were even louder since it was not early morning anymore. The ride was oddly quicker too. In all, it seemed to have been a better day than normal. That is until I got home.

I walked slowly to my front door, making sure Souta was close behind me. I dreaded what awaited me at home everyday. There were so many chores to get done. And with all the homework I had, only God knew when I would be able to get some sleep. I turned the chipped gold paint knob and pushed gently on the door. The smell of mold I had become unaccustomed to while I was at school hit my nose hard. I closed the door after Souta made it safely inside, took my jacket off, and set my book bag beside the stairs and walked into the kitchen to tell my mom hello. I could feel the tension right away, although she said nothing. I knew something was wrong. Very wrong. I didn't question anything though. It wasn't a good time to ask. I started the daily chores as usual. I gathered and separated the dirty clothes and ran the water in the tub. Mom got the washing detergent and the stick off the broom and set to work stirring the clothes with the stick and then both of us rinsing them, ringing them out, and hanging them up around the house to dry. After this, I started my homework and she got started on finding something for dinner.

Daddy came home soon, looking older than his usual self. Souta sat in the living room watching one of the four channels we got with the antenna on top of the television, while my little sister played with her toys in the corner. Dinner was ready within the next few minutes and Mom called us to the table. When we got to the table, there was what looked to be a big pancake on top of a bowl, better known as hoe cake. This meant that we had absolutely nothing else to eat except flour fried in grease. It was becoming a regular meal for us. As dinner progressed, Souta began to complain about how often we had hoe cake and how he wanted meat. Which, he had a right to complain, we all did. But I chose not to for the sake of our parents. My little sister was too young to understand what was going on, yet she turned her nose up at the greasy pancake. I looked at the pain and sadness in my parents eyes and saw something more in Daddy's; tears. Daddy was crying.

Souta and my little sister didn't notice before Mom had scolded them to be thankful for what they had and shooed them from the table. I sat there and watched as my Daddy covered his eyes with his hand. Daddy, the strongest man in the whole world, the one who hung the stars and the moon in my eyes, had broken down. Mom ran to hug him and I sat there, mouth open in shock. After a minute Mom ran him upstairs to get a shower. She and I were alone and I knew it was my opportunity to ask what had happened. Daddy had trouble finding work again today. Being a house painter work was hard to find. He called Mom around lunch to check in and Mom gave him the horrible news she had gotten in the mail moments before; we were behind three months on our gas bill and they were cutting it off the next day. This meant no way to cook because we had a gas stove. No hot showers or warm house because there would be no gas to heat it. In the middle of February there was no way to just wait it out for the warmer season of Spring because that was months away. I went to my room and sobbed. After I had calmed down, I took the razor from my pencil sharpener and made a cut along the width of my wrist knowing my parents were too caught up in bills and worry to wonder whether I had made the wound myself or my cat. I laid down and stared at the ceiling thinking, just thinking.

My name is Kagome Higurashi.

And before Inuyasha came along, this was my life.

But he changed everything.


End file.
